Practice Makes Perfection
by Marianne Greenleaf
Summary: Harold Hill is used to being the expert at everything he does. But when River City goes ice skating, he has his first brush with mediocrity and doesn't like it one bit.


_A/N – I've recently gotten back into roller skating, which I haven't pursued since my teens. Naturally, it occurred to me to wonder how Harold and Marian might enjoy a day at the rink. But since roller skating didn't become a common pastime in America until the 1970s, I decided to have the music professor and librarian try their hand (or more accurately, feet) at ice skating, which has been a perennially popular mode of recreation in the Western world since the Middle Ages._

XXX

_Remember, practice makes perfection, which is what we want!  
~Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn, to the Ladies Dance Committee_

XXX

_December 1912_

The year of our lord nineteen hundred and twelve was a banner year for River City. Since the arrival of one Professor Harold Gregory Hill in July, the school board mended their petty feud, Winthrop Paroo transformed from a mute problem child into the boldest cornet player among his peers, Marian Paroo proved to be the most upright gem of a woman beneath her prickly and standoffish exterior, and River City possessed both a boys' band and musical curriculum noteworthy enough to gain acclaim in Iowa's most prestigious newspaper. And thanks to Professor Hill's numerous public appearances at the Pleez-All Billiard Parlor in order to mend fences with City Hall, business was booming so well that the facility was able to purchase a second pool table.

To celebrate everything they'd achieved as a town during the past six months, Mayor Shinn announced that there would be a revelry of exciting events leading up to Christmas – planned in large part, of course, by the Events Committee so ably headed by his esteemed wife, Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn. Naturally, the newly married Professor and Mrs. Hill were prevailed upon by the committee to take a highly visible role in the coordination of these occasions, which they did with the usual gusto on Harold's part and dedication to hard work on Marian's.

Neither the music professor nor the librarian minded the toil too much, though the planning as well as the need for getting enough sleep did admittedly cut into the long and languid nights they'd continued to enjoy together even after their honeymoon officially ended. Fortunately, it wasn't all drudgery – there was genuine fun to be had at more than a few of these gatherings. Harold knew that Marian was particularly looking forward to the ice skating shindig to be held on the pond behind the high school during the third Saturday in December – the event was largely her idea in the first place, as she'd greatly enjoyed skating as a girl but hadn't had the opportunity to engage in this activity since her family came to River City. So despite her anticipation, she confessed to her husband that she was also a little bit nervous about getting back onto the ice, as she hadn't skated in at least five years and may not be as good at it as she once was.

As for Harold, skating was one skill he'd never picked up in his travels. Having spent his teenage years in a much milder climate than the upper Midwest, he hadn't had the opportunity. He wasn't too worried, though, as skating didn't look all that difficult to learn. In any case, when Saturday morning finally rolled around, he was far more focused on how delectable Marian looked in her dark green two-piece wool skating ensemble, complete with fur stole and tassel fringe. Though the librarian demurred that her getup was somewhat out of date, as she hadn't worn it since Cincinnati, Harold insisted that she looked good enough to eat – and then proved it by kissing the breath out of her, leaving a small love-bite beneath her elegant collar, and unfastening each and every hook and button within reach of his eager fingers.

When they finally arrived to the pond – not _too_ late to raise eyebrows, but just late enough to slip unnoticed into the festivities already in full swing – husband and wife already had flushed cheeks and bright eyes. Fortunately, the stolid River City-ziens did not seem to attribute these physical phenomena to the vigorous exertions they'd enjoyed just before leaving the house, but rather to the crisp winter air and the anticipation of engaging in wholesome aerobic exercise. However, when Marian stepped onto the ice and executed a graceful glide that made her dress flare out becomingly around her, Harold could only stare after her in rapt attention. He knew it was eminently unwise to be so unguarded in his demeanor, lest he call undue attention to the ardor that perpetually smoldered between them. But as a newlywed who was still reveling in all the ways he was now allowed to enjoy his beloved's company, he couldn't help himself. He was a man head over heels in love, and he didn't care who knew it.

It wasn't until a smirking Marcellus Washburn sidled over and elbowed the befuddled music professor that he remembered he was supposed to be skating, too. After all, as River City's First Citizen – or so Mayor Shinn unctuously called him these days – he had to set the example. Stepping gingerly onto the ice, Harold attempted to follow in the wake of his charming wife, meaning to catch right up to her and tell her how wonderful the wind looked in her hair. But before he could glide so much as a foot forward, he promptly slipped and fell flat on his backside.

Letting out a laugh that was laced with concern, Marian immediately scooted back to the heap he was lying in and joined Marcellus in helping him to his feet.

"Skating is definitely not as easy as it looks," Harold muttered, rubbing the aching spot on his posterior that had taken the brunt of the impact. Ignoring the burning sensation in his cheeks, he addressed the concerned crowd that had gathered around him: "I'm all right, folks! Just need to get my 'sea legs' back, so to speak. I can't remember the last time I set foot on an ice rink, ha ha!"

Reassured by the false but convincing confidence in his booming baritone, the townspeople smiled understandingly and resumed their skating. Prudently recognizing that he was out of his depth, Harold continued to cling to Marian and Marcellus, who expertly, if slowly, shepherded him around the pond. Even though no one was paying attention to him any longer, it was still rather embarrassing that he couldn't manage to skate on his own two feet.

"How did _you_ learn to skate?" he asked his erstwhile shill, sounding a bit sullener than he intended.

As ever, Marcellus took his ill humor in stride. "Me and the neighborhood boys in Brooklyn did this for fun all the time during the winters."

Harold had to smother a grin when Marian winced at the glaring grammatical error but politely refrained from correcting it. "I suppose when you pick up something as a kid, it sticks for life. But for most of my childhood, I never had a winter to skate in."

"We can teach you," the librarian reassured him. Guiding him to a less occupied area of the pond, she began instructing him immediately: "The first step to learning how to ice skate is to march."

Harold chuckled. "Really?" He shot a look at Marcellus, who smiled and shrugged as if to say, _beats me, but why not?_

"Really," Marian confirmed, sounding as serious and stern as she ever did when she assumed her post as mistress of the library. "Do exactly what I do." Spreading her arms out, she marched at a slow and steady pace forward. "Also tense the muscles in your midsection as you march – it will help you find your balance."

At the mention of the muscles in his midsection – which she was far more intimately familiar with than anyone else he'd ever known – Harold glanced hopefully at his wife. But to his disappointment, no blush colored her cheeks. Clearly, she was wholly focused on coaching him, with no mind for flirtation or innuendo.

If they were alone, he might have pursued that tempting line of coquetry aloud to see if he could tease a delectable rose or two into gracing Marian's fair complexion. However, since Marcellus was present and it would have been ungentlemanly to accost his wife in the presence of others, Harold did as he was told without comment. To his delight, he got the hang of the maneuver rather quickly. When the librarian had him try a two-footed glide holding on to her arm, that didn't go too badly, either. Perhaps his natural grace would prove useful in mastering this endeavor, after all.

However, once Marian had him try a two-footed glide on his own, he went sprawling right onto the ice again. Ignoring his compatriot's open guffaws and his wife's barely repressed giggles, Harold picked himself up and tried again. This time, he did commendably better – until he came too close to the edge of the pond and realized he didn't know how to stop. Panicking, he shouted for Marian and Marcellus to help him.

"Point your toes in a V to scrape to a halt!" Marian called after him, but it was too late. He went careening right into the bank and ended up with a face full of snow when he splatted to the ground.

As Harold flopped onto his back and rubbed the watery slush out of his eyes, Marian swizzled gracefully over to him (hadn't skated in at least five years and may not be as good at it as she once was, his backside!) and offered to help him up. He was more than a little chagrinned when he saw her shoulders shaking with laughter and, when he tugged on her hand, she tumbled down right alongside him, where she remained prostrate with the mirth she could no longer suppress.

Normally, seeing the librarian this disheveled and uninhibited in public would have sent his pulse racing. But after such a spectacular display of personal failure, Harold was too out of sorts to do anything but drily remark, "Well, I'm glad _someone_ is having fun on the ice."

Marian wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. "Oh, Harold," she said apologetically. "You were making wonderful progress until just now. With a little more practice, I have no doubt that you'll eventually catch on to skating."

The amusement likewise faded from Marcellus's eyes, and he skated over to assist in pulling the bedraggled music professor to his feet. "I can show you a thing or two along with Miss Marian, if you'd like. We could practice together once or twice a week until the snow melts, if you want. With your twinkle toes, you'll be skating rings around us in no time!"

"Thanks, Marce," said Harold, both grateful for and annoyed by his old pal's forbearance. Being teased wasn't much fun, but being pitied was almost unbearable. "I'll give it some thought."

XXX

That evening, Harold took a long soak in the tub and reflected on the events of the afternoon. _Who is Harold Gregory Hill?_ he thought peevishly. Whoever he was, it certainly wasn't a champion ice skater!

After years of excelling at almost every endeavor he attempted, it was surprisingly frustrating not being an instant expert at something. He supposed he couldn't complain about his lack of inherent skating ability, as he was already endowed with so many talents: he possessed a silver tongue that could talk people into giving him their life savings, a warm and deep baritone that could sing beautifully, and a nimble agility that enabled him to dance, move, and make love with the most enviable grace and aplomb. And on top of all that, he remained wickedly handsome even into his forties.

So why should it bother him that he proved such a laughingstock on his initial attempt at ice skating? It wasn't his first brush with mediocrity, after all – it had taken him almost a full month to master the trumpet, and he was both secretly and steadily increasing his hitherto limited piano repertoire. But even so, his lack of preliminary aptitude in these areas hadn't perturbed him to this degree.

Perhaps it bothered him so much because there was no cutting corners, no easy shortcuts, and no Think Systems for learning how to skate. He had to put in the grueling physical work if he wanted to become as graceful as Marian or even merely as steady-footed as Marcellus was. At his age, Harold had little patience for such tedious drilling, especially in a subject that wasn't essential for him to learn. While it would have been gratifying to wow both Marian and the River City-ziens with aplomb on the ice, just as he dazzled them on the dance floor, he knew full well that skating wasn't something he needed to know in order to enhance or even maintain his marital, business, and social success. And if truth be told, it wasn't an activity that interested him all that much.

Tired of pondering the matter at last, Harold turned his thoughts to activities that _did_ interest him. For a few pulse-pounding moments, he seriously contemplated calling out to Marian and persuading her to join him in the tub for a few conjugal delights. But after some careful thought, he decided it was too premature in their marriage to go down that road just yet. He had only just introduced the librarian to what he decorously referred to as "lip service" two weeks ago, and she still blushed each and every time he performed that particular act on her (which was quite often, as her desire for him far outweighed her Victorian hesitancy, now that they were married and could do exactly as they liked behind closed doors). Still, the notion of Marian pressed up against him in the tub, warm and wet and panting as he made love to her, made for some very nice thoughts as he finished up his bath.

When Harold finally roused himself from his pleasant stupor and climbed out of the tub, he winced at the pain of movement. He fancied himself in decent shape, but apparently skating had required the use of muscles he hadn't known he'd possessed. And after having fallen so spectacularly right after his first foray onto the ice, he was sporting an impressive purple bruise on his posterior. So as much as he hated to dissuade Marian's heartily expressed enthusiasm, he was going to have to let her know that she needed to be a little more circumspect as to where she grabbed and grasped at him whenever they made love over the next few days.

As Harold started pulling on the fresh pair of drawers he'd brought into the washroom, he noticed they were torn right up the seam. He was not at all happy about this turn of events, as he'd have to throw the drawers out – somehow, he couldn't bring himself to submit such intimate articles to Marian for mending, especially not after making such a fool of himself on the ice today. Concealing the ripped undergarments in the towel hamper for the time being (laundry day wasn't until Monday, so he had another day in which to deal with them properly before they were discovered), he pulled on his pajamas and retired to the bedroom.

As it was late in the evening, Marian was in bed reading a book, spectacles perched charmingly on her nose. Wanting nothing more than a little loving comfort from his wife before he drifted off to sleep, Harold slid beneath the covers and cuddled up next to her.

Placing her book and spectacles on a nearby end table, the librarian indulgently obliged his unspoken request. "Are you feeling all right, darling?" she asked tenderly, smoothing his tousled curls back and planting a gentle kiss on his forehead.

For once, Harold was too tired to flirt, so he just nodded. "I have a bruise on my backside and a few muscle aches." When she giggled at that anyway, he let out a long sigh and told her the plain truth. "In all honesty, my ego's more bruised than anything else. But I'll be right as rain after a good night's sleep."

Marian's gaze softened from amusement to sympathy. "You had quite the afternoon," she agreed, her hands moving up and down his back in firm, soothing strokes.

Forgetting his pique entirely, Harold groaned as her touch sent shivers shooting through him from head to toe. "_Ohhhh_ Marian, please don't stop doing that… "

Rolling him over so he laid prone on their bed, the librarian continued to massage his back. Daringly, she lifted his pajama shirt to stroke his bare skin, starting at his shoulders and working her way downward. Harold continued to groan his ringing approval as she capably and methodically worked out all the kinks in his muscles. And when her skillful hands reached the small of his back, he grew hard. Maybe he _wasn't_ too tired to make love, after all…

"You know, I'm not sure I was tensing the muscles of my midsection correctly during our skating lesson," he said impishly, turning in his wife's embrace so her hands graced his abdomen. "Perhaps you can show me which muscles I need to be engaging?"

The lovely blush he'd been hoping to see earlier suffused her cheeks. Though she was still far too skittish to touch him beneath the belt without his expressly guiding her there, he knew from the way her pupils dilated with desire and her breath caught in her throat that she was keenly aware of the provocative way his pajama pants were presently tented.

But as ever, the librarian maintained her impeccable poise even in the midst of her own arousal, and she regarded him with the sly smile that always drove him wild. "You may not be an expert at skating, _Mister_ Hill, but you're very good at other things."

"Oh?" he asked with a grin, knowing exactly what she was talking about but still needing to hear her say it. "And just what are those 'other things' that I'm so good at, my dear little librarian?"

She bit her lip shyly at first, but then gazed at him with such blazing yearning and determination that he grew even harder. "You already know what you've brought to River City. But perhaps you need to know everything you've brought to me, especially since we've married. When you look at me, my heart always beats faster. When you dance with me, I still get weak in the knees. And when you make love to me with your hands and your mouth and _this_" – her fingers nervously but avidly traced the waist of his pajamas – "you make me feel like a queen. There will never be any man in the world who loves me so well and thoroughly as _you_, Harold."

_This_ was the Marian he was hoping to tease out all along. Every single time the true intensity of her feelings overcame her maidenly modestly, Harold rejoiced in body, heart, and soul. Though he was probably going to pay dearly for this additional exertion tomorrow morning, desire had made him limber again for the time being – without another word, he sat up, took his wife in his arms, and rolled her beneath him. As his mouth eagerly met hers, his fingers lost no time in finding their way between her thighs. When she broke their kiss to look pleadingly at him, he gave her the soft, affectionate smile he never showed to anyone else but her and lowered his head to her lap.

Tonight, Harold was determined to achieve even greater feats than they had before: bringing Marian to climax no less than three times before he finally made love to her in earnest. When he informed the librarian of this lofty objective, she let out that wonderfully low and throaty laugh of hers and remarked, "Remember, practice makes perfection!"

"Which is _exactly_ what we want," he agreed in a voice that was just as smoldering, before burying his face in her warm and welcoming thighs.

As Marian started to moan softly and then ecstatically at the clever ministrations of his mouth and tongue, Harold Gregory Hill did indeed remember that were some things he was _very_ good at, and he was resolved to stick primarily to doing those things in the future. While it was all well and good to try new activities once in a while, he'd much rather spend the Saturdays of his first winter in River City ensconced between the sheets learning everything he possibly could about the woman he loved, instead of racking up all kinds of novel and needless bruises on a frozen pond beneath his good friend's tutelage.

XXX

_If you're curious about Harold hiding his drawers from Marian, they reminisce fondly about this early marriage peccadillo of his in chapter three of Mistletoe and Memories. And Harold finally gets Marian into the tub with him in Happy Anniversary._


End file.
